


Snippets (Drabble Collection)

by Bloopydoo (UNDERTALESIN)



Category: Thomas the Tank Engine - All Media Types
Genre: Abuse, Blood and Injury, Fluff, Ghosts, Heavy Angst, Loss, M/M, Major Character Injury, Mindbreak, Seaside, Suicidal Thoughts, Torture, Unethical Experimentation, Wingfic, houseboat
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-03
Updated: 2019-01-20
Packaged: 2019-07-06 07:43:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 4,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15881622
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/UNDERTALESIN/pseuds/Bloopydoo
Summary: Little bits that don't fit the prompt collection or are too short to merit their own fic. Please enjoy, and leave a comment if you can :)





	1. Seabound Home

As Henry made his way into the attic of the houseboat, a smile had crept across his face. There was Gordon, curled up on a nest of blankets and fast asleep. The lone window let the moonlight cast its cool blue glow across the scene as the boat rocked slowly and gently on the empty sea.

Henry carefully settled himself on the edge of the blanket pile. He could feel the silent warmth from his partner, comforting and warm. A tiny, satisfied smile crossed Gordon's face, and the sleeping man wrapped his arms around Henry's waist, gently urging Henry into the soft fabrics. Henry stifled a laugh at Gordon's unconscious affection, not wanting to wake him up. He needed as much sleep as he could get.

Gordon had been having nightmares recently, of the home they'd left behind. Their departure had been swift and sudden; though they’d been able to pack enough food and fishing bait to stave off starvation, they'd not had a chance to say goodbye to many of their friends. Gordon's nightmares fixated on these friends, and their possible reactions.

Edward would have been so disappointed. He'd been trying to leave for years. He'd have been crushed. He just needed to get away; he'd been trapped for longer than he could remember.

James would have raged at them, for leaving him behind. He would be bitter, angry that he'd be stuck while they had been freed. That they had a better life waiting for them, while he and Edward didn't.

Bill and Ben would have been so confused. They were too young to understand just how trapped they were, too young to fathom just how little they could do. They would have learned, in time.

Henry felt Gordon's arms tremble slightly, and heard the telltale throaty whine that he made when he had a particularly bad nightmare. With a quiet sigh, Henry began patting his arm soothingly and humming a familiar melody. It had once had lyrics, but they were long since forgotten; the melody alone was comforting to the both of them. Henry breathed a mental sigh of relief as the melody smoothed the creases from Gordon's brow and the tension left his body.

As the boat rocked the two of them to sleep on a mirror flat sea, Henry could only thank the stars for the little comforts of their sea-bound home.


	2. Salt

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Inspired by an OTP prompt on Tumblr.  
> Salty.

 James sighed. He was nowhere near prepared for this. He exited the car carefully, pulling the bouquet of blue lilies from the front seat. He made the trek up the seaside cliff, and stood in front of a small, weather-beaten headstone.

Edward had been standing there already, and  turned slightly towards James as his love approached. James stood in silence beside him, taking in the crisp air and the salt from the seafoam.

"It’s been a while hasn’t it?" He'd mused.

Edward chuckled. "Yes, it has."

James shivered as he took a breath of cold, salty air and the chill seeped into his body. 

"I miss you a lot, can you believe it?" James patted the weathered marble gravestone. Edward nodded and mirrored the movement. "I miss you too."

"They told me to move on." James continued quietly, gazing out at the sea. "I don’t want to. They know I can't go on without you."

Silence fell.

"I wish I could move on as well," Edward murmured. "But it’s better if you do."

James wiped away tears off his face that were as salty as the sea below. "I love you … If only you could hear me." He laid the bundle of blue lilies at the foot of Edward's grave.

'Edward Furness - 43. In loving memory of a good friend.' His gravestone read. Edward sighed as James continued to quietly cry.

"I can hear you. I just wish you could hear me. I love you."

James' phone went off, the rhythmic beeping ruining the mood. James sighed. It was an important call that he couldn't miss.

"Don’t worry, Edward, I’ll be back soon. I promise."

As James started down the hill, Edward smiled as he began to fade slightly. 

"I know you will."


	3. Loss (Halloween chapter)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Neglect and age have done a number on Gordon. The scrapyard gains metal.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know I've been absent recently, but just thought I'd pop up a halloween chapter. Sorry it's angst, I'm writing a lot of that recently. T.T

Gordon wheezed painfully. Years of neglect had not been kind to the A0, and he could feel the metal of his body rusting and flaking away.  
  
Scotty had at least been saved from this hellish fate, but had once again been taken to America. Gordon had heard little from him since, and he sometimes wondered whether Scott still remembered his older brother, decaying away back home. He wondered if Scott still talked about his "Little Brother" in the same fond tone he'd used to promise Gordon he'd be safe. That they'd all be safe.  
  
Mallard was at the NRM, preserved for his heritage and spared the indignity of rusting away, or the heat of the cutter's torch. Spencer hadn't been so lucky.  
  
Gordon had watched his cousin receive the news of his imminent demise, and watched him shatter at the words.  
  
Spencer had quickly lost the smug, superior air he'd carried like a shield. He became an empty husk; doing only the work requested of him and no more. He no longer talked to the others, and glided like a silver ghost along the line.  
  
Gordon had watched Spencer enter the scrapyard with dull eyes. He cried quietly when a flatbed of steel engine parts and plating left for the smelters.  
  
Gordon had been left in a siding, a faded blue tarp covering his boiler and cab. The tarp, meant to protect his metal body from the elements, trapped dew from the weeds growing between the sleepers and worsened the rust spreading through him. It felt like steel wool, a horrible grating itch that couldn't be scratched.  
  
Once, he'd entertained the notion that it was a temporary situation, that they would come back and restore him like they had with Scott. That foolish wish had faded like his once brilliant paint, becoming only a tattered reminder of his former glory. Gordon had long since given up any hope that remained within him.  
  
Every breath that Gordon managed to pull agitated the rusted boiler tubes and other components inside him, setting his mind ablaze with another sharp spike of pain. He wasn't sure why he kept breathing, other than habit. At least it gave him something to do other than mourn, although it seemed to be all he did these days.  
  
Some days he wished that he'd crashed back in the beginning, as a prototype or early in his career as the Sudrian express engine.  That he had died, and never had to watch the demise of his own family. Each time that wish entered his smokebox, memories of Henry and Edward, James and Thomas, even little Percy made him stew in his own guilt- that he could even think of abandoning them, when he knew what they'd face, exactly how much they'd needed him...  
  
Gordon knew he wasn't a good person. If North or Nigel had been here, they might even say that he was going to hell. But when even his best had failed, what else was there to do?  
  
Secretly, he hoped his frame had been rusted through, and that he would crumble and collapse with the next breeze. It never happened, and the wind simply eroded his metal and sent more pain lancing through his boiler.  
  
Slow footsteps on the gravel alerted him to someone approaching. He opened his eyes creakily, and it took a moment to focus his vision. A familiar blue uniform stood before him.  
  
Samuel had been Gordon's driver for 30 years, and knew the blue engine well. He'd stayed with Gordon through the end of the NorthWestern railway, before retiring after Gordon was put into storage on the siding. He visited Gordon occasionally, but his visits had grown less and less frequent as of late.  
  
"I'm sorry, old boy. They're gojng to scrap you before the week is out." Samuel dipped his head in respect. Gordon simply heaved a sigh which rattled his rusty body. "It's about time, Samuel."  
  
Gordon raised an eyebrow in faint amusement at Samuel's gaping mouth and shocked expression. "I've had my time, and more than most of my siblings did. Could you imagine having to live through the deaths of everyone you ever loved?"  
  
His gaze grew melancholic as he stared off into space, considering. "Please, Samuel, send word to my brother and cousin. They deserve to know."

Samuel stared at the rusting engine, and sighed. "I will, but it may make them only more upset." He fiddled with the buttons on his sleeve as he spoke. "You know, you're far braver than I am, if this is how you face death."  
  
Gordon wheezed again. "Not braver, Sam, but infinitely more exhausted. I am far beyond rescuing, and everything hurts. The best I can hope for is oblivion."  
  
Samuel sighed, and turned to leave. He hesitated, and turned back to Gordon. He patted the engine's cheek gently. "Sleep well, old friend." As Gordon closed his eyes, Samuel left.  
  
Samuel had been at the scrapyards in a video call with Mallard and Scott when Gordon's flatbed was brought in by Arry and Bert, his tender on the flatbed behind him. Gordon was quiet, but he could have passed for being asleep.  
  
After the foreman emptied a lethal dose of engine anaesthetic into his firebox, Samuel knew Gordon was definitely gone.  
The telltale ping of the call being muted on two ends told Samuel that Mallard and Scott hadn't been able to keep their grief from spilling into their cries, and that they had muted so as to not interrupt the solemn proceedings.  
  
Gordon was pulled into the middle of the room, and the acrid smell of the torches filled the air. As the cutters decended onto Gordon's body like vultures, Samuel had to avert his eyes. Once the swarm had cleared away and left only metal components on the flatbeds, Scott's channel unmuted and sound flooded back into the call. Scott was sniffing quietly. Mallard joined back a moment later, voice wavering ever so slightly. "It is done, then."  
  
"He was the best brother I could've had," Scott whispered, "and now he's gone."  
  
Samuel ended the call soon after. Scotty had been scheduled for maintenance, but had blown it off to be in the call and farewell his brother. Mallard took that as his cue to disconnect as well.  
  
As he gazed out at the flatbeds of rusty metal that had once been a dear friend, a distinct pang of loss ripped through his mind.


	4. Restraints

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Shattering minds is a speciality of his, but Diesel 10 must admit, he's done particularly well this time.
> 
>  
> 
> That James always was so very intolerable.

He is no longer restrained.

There are no more ropes around his wrists and ankles anymore.

They decided he doesn’t need them. He couldn’t stand up if he tried, let alone fight back.

He is broken.

\--------

He remembers a time when things were different. When he knew his own name, and the names of his friends. When a dear friend in blue would sing him to sleep beneath a starry sky. They always were so shy about it.

He remembers those times, and weeps for them.  
  
There will be no more of those times.

\--------

The bad ones came suddenly.

They were not prepared, and fell quickly to The Claw's horde. All fought valiantly, but only the magic one escaped.

The Claw took everything from them.

\--------

Sometimes the blue friend comes in again, but they have changed. They no longer wear the soft and pleasant smile on their face. Their embrace is no longer warm and safe. Their eyes are no longer that special blue, and they no longer call his name.

The bad ones have changed them.

They now wear a blank expression or a cold sneer. Their embrace is no longer for him, and they bring only pain. Worse still, The Claw has taken away the windows; in the darkness it is impossible to keep time. Thus, he can never tell when they might come next to bring him agony.

\--------

Despite the blackness, he cannot hide. The Claw has eyes that see easily through the encompassing night. They see everything he does: when he must ask to eat, to sleep, to relieve himself. All these things The Claw sees and controls.

The Claw does not give him enough food or water. It takes a sick joy in the dryness of his throat, in the hunger gnawing at his belly. It gives him only enough to survive, and rarely, enough to recover.

He hates that Claw. It has taken everything from him, and though he would like nothing more than to obliterate it and remove its taint from the world, he cannot. He needs it. He needs it because, coward he is, _he is too afraid to die._

\--------

After some time, he understood it was impossible to leave. He had been beaten for trying to leave, and beaten for not trying. It had become so hard to determine why they were hurting him, he no longer tried. He imagined that The Claw must simply enjoy seeing him writhe in pain.

And so, he has come to accept it. There is no getting away.

He would not have gotten far anyway.

\--------

They keep him alone, as alone as possible. Sometimes they taunt him, telling him he will lose more than he already has. He finds that amusing.

He has very little left to lose.

There was also a time when they told him they would hurt others if he misbehaved. They showed him the little ones, told him if he ran they'd be killed. He had failed little blue, but green had survived.

Sometimes he wept in his heart for the little cheeky thing. He could no longer outwardly cry, else he would have done that. It was because The Claw had told him he couldn't.

The Claw's word was law.

\--------

Sometimes they threatened to give him to another, worse owner. A pair of Smelters.

They left him with them one day, to show him how much worse it was.

It made him grateful for The Claw.

He _hated_ that feeling.

\--------

Occasionally, he would get a good day. A day when he was allowed a companion, or perhaps a sweet snack or drink.

They were infrequent, and he could never find a pattern in the days he was given. The Claw loved keeping him on edge.

When he was allowed a companion, it was one of the ones he'd known who wore green. He could tell by the faint, faded green of their irises.

The little one curled up in his arms and sobbed, until he wrapped his arms around them, patting their back gently. They wept for the death of the little blue one, whom he had been somewhat responsible for. He felt compelled to look out for them.

The large one barely responded to him. They laid their head in his lap, crying silently, eyes wide and unseeing. They whimpered occasionally, and reacted badly to loud noises. The cried about someone being "not the same" and thrashed wildly in their sleep. He could sympathise.

He'd stopped sleeping after the nightmares started.

But they weren't really nightmares, as such. The life they portrayed was borderline utopian, but felt indescribably sad to him. Like something he should have known. All the people in the dreams called him James. That was ridiculous, though. He didn't have a name. The Claw had never given him one.

Sometimes they let him go outside, always in the dark. There were small shiny things that sparkled in the sky. One of the nicest ones told him they were 'stars'. He liked stars.

Stars were pretty.

\--------

Sometimes The Claw came to visit him, no rhyme or pattern to his visits. He had long since learned to be at least civil. After all, he was punished if he wasn't.

He didn't like getting hurt.

The Claw would sometimes give him things, or be nice to him. They'd hug him, card their fingers through his hair and tell him how much more they liked him 'obedient'. They might give him some pretty ribbon, or some shiny thing to amuse himself with. Those were the good days.

There were days The Claw only hurt him. He didn't like those days. He would curl up as blow after blow pounded his battered body. Sometimes, that was it. The Claw would then leave him to lick his wounds.

Other days, they'd apologise and tell him they were sorry. Those days made him want to scream.

They were sorry for hurting him, honestly. They didn't mean to, they were just really mad. They wouldn't do it again, promise.

He couldn't leave. The Claw controlled everything. The Claw was everything.

Even when they stopped visiting, they were everything.

Even when they left him without food for weeks until he'd collapsed of exhaustion, they were everything.

He doesn't ask for anything anymore.

The Claw gives him everything he needs.

_~~\--Somewhere in his mind, a figure in red weeps for what it has lost--~~ _


	5. Freedom

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Percy and Thomas narrowly escaped captivity, but an unexpected event ruins their plan. Percy is left to pick up the pieces. (From a Tumblr prompt)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's short, but I haven't really been writing that much. Please take this as a token of my apologies.

 

We did it! Thomas, we did it! We're free!” 

 

Percy was glowing with happiness. He spun, giggling, overjoyed at their luck. He turned to wrap Thomas in a hug, but stopped short. The smile froze on his face.  

 

Thomas wasn't cheering. He was breathing heavily, eyes glazed and sweat plastering the hair to his head. He glanced up at Percy in confusion to see why his friend had stopped cheering.  

 

“Perce, what's up? Why'd you stop? Is something wrong?” 

 

Percy's hands had flown to his mouth, and tears were pooling in the corners of his eyes. Was Thomas really so out of it that he couldn't feel the blood pooling around his shoes?  

 

Before Percy could say anything Thomas had crumpled, flopping to the floor with a loud thump.  

 

As Percy rushed over, Thomas had focused on the sky, looking up and past him. Thomas spoke so quietly he nearly didn't hear him. 

 

“It's bad, isn't it?” 

 

Thomas had been hit during their escape, and Percy was sure that it had been a major artery or vein. He knew he should tell Thomas the truth, but… 

 

He just looked so sad. 

 

“It's all good.” 

 

Thomas raised an eyebrow, feverishly bright eyes locking onto Percy. He tried to touch the injury, but Percy pushed his hands away. He'd fussed over it for a moment before distracting Thomas by grabbing his hands tightly. 

 

“I'm sure you'll be fine, Thomas!” 

 

For a moment, Thomas seemed to doubt Percy's words. His brow crinkled, eyes narrowing, before he seemed to let go and trust Percy completely. 

 

“Thanks Perce. With you here, I'm sure I will be.” 

 

Percy stealthily wiped the tears out of his eyes when Thomas had briefly closed them. He couldn't let Thomas see his despair. 

 

They sat in silence together beneath the stars, and Percy sniffled quietly. So close to freedom, only to fail now?! It was so cruel! Why couldn't they have something good, just this once?!

Thomas noticed his distress and squeezed his hand comfortingly. 

 

“Hey, we're good. We'll be fine, Percy!” 

 

He managed a gentle smile for his best friend, cheerful and bright. It only drove another sharp stab of pain into his heart. 

 

The pool of blood was glinting in the moonlight. 

 

Thomas's grip had loosened slightly, and he shivered. 

 

“Was that a frigid breeze? I feel really cold all of a sudden…" 

 

Percy just clutched Thomas's hand, tears streaming down his face. 

 

“Percy…” 

 

Percy couldn't meet Thomas's gaze. He just held Thomas's hand, waiting for the inevitable. Thomas was too weak to protest, but Percy could see the hope drain out of his eyes.  

 

Thomas's hand slipped out of Percy's as he went silent. 

 

Left with a cold corpse and regrets, Percy couldn't stop his pain from exploding into the night.


	6. Fallen Skies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wing!AU
> 
> Gordon is a super speedy Gresley Boi. He and his entire family have a double pair: one set angles up, the other down. They usually use one for lift and the other for steering.

“Break the wings. Don’t want our little failed experiment getting any ideas.”   
  
The scientist cocked his head, and looked at his supervisor in confusion.   
  
“Sir, the subject is below the recommended removal age. I cannot condone-”   
  
"They are a failure, Mark. Do as you are told."   
  
Mark shrugged, and spoke into the intercom.   
  
“You heard the man.”   
  
The men advanced toward the sleeping boy, grabbing his wings roughly. As viridian feathers fell like hellish snow to the linoleum floor, all the child could do was scream.   
  
\---   
  
Gordon shivered as he woke from the dream. He swung his legs off the side of the bed, letting his feet rest on the floor. That same nightmare again… What could it mean?   
  
Both pairs of wings instinctively fluffed up at the memory, and Gordon huffed. North was the only one still awake, and wouldn't be happy to be disturbed.   
  
He tiptoed past his sleeping brothers and sisters, to the window alcove where North studied a book in the bright moonlight. At Gordon's soft footsteps, he put the book to one side and swept Gordon into a hug.   
  
“The nightmare again? ”   
  
Gordon nodded mutely. North let Gordon sit in his lap, and began to preen the ruffled feathers.   
  
“You know Sir Gresley would never do that to us, right?” he murmured after a few minutes.   
  
“I know he wouldn't, North. But they don't have him as a creator.”   
  
North sighed, patting the last few feathers back into place.    
  
“The most we can do is hope that they're alright. And if you meet them when you grow up, try to help them. Goodness knows they'd need it.”   
  
“I hope someday they'll fly again.”   
  
North helped Gordon get back to bed, before leaving for his own. Neither of them slept well that night.   
  
\---   
  
Gordon had only been with the NWR courier service for a year or two when he arrived. A young man in forest green, who sorted innumerable parcels and deliveries without complaint. The most confusing part was the jacket he never took off, embroidered with a pair of green wings.   
  
“Henry, you're done for today! You can go take a break if you want.”   
  
Henry nodded, walking away. Gordon couldn't help but follow him, curious.   
  
“If you wanted to ask me something Gordon, you could just say so.”   
  
Gordon blinked. Huh. He didn't think he was that loud.   
  
“You remind me of a dream I had as a kid. I'm trying to figure out if it's actually you.”   
  
Henry sighed.    
  
“Good luck with that. ”   
  
\---   
  
The two grew close, personalities gelling pretty well. But Henry flatly refused to talk about his past. Gordon let it be.   
  
Then, Percy's flight feathers grew in.   
  
“Henry, Henry! Come look!”   
  
Percy was running in circles, overjoyed... Thomas was running in circles too, excited for his friend. Thomas' flight feathers had grown in the previous year.    
  
Henry walked in, and stopped short in the doorway. All the memories he'd repressed for so long spilled out, and he was dragged back there.   
  
Back to the tile and linoleum labs where he'd been made, where they'd decided he wasn't good enough. Where they'd taken his wings from him before he could even fly on his own.   
  
Henry bolted, leaving a confused Thomas and Percy behind.   
  
Gordon found him in the garden, shaking and sobbing.   
  
“Go  **AWAY** !”   
  
Henry chucked a clump of dirt at Gordon, then curled up again.   
  
“Henry…”   
  
Gordon sat beside Henry, wings tucked flat behind him, and wrapped an arm around Henry's shoulders.   
  
Henry's sobs lessened a little, and he'd leaned wearily on Gordon.   
  
He stared up at the sky.   
  
“I wish I had gotten better creators.”    
  
Gordon didn't say anything, letting Henry vent.   
  
“I was too young, you know? Or at least that's what the head scientist told me after.”   
  
Henry buried his face in his hands.   
  
“I only got to fly twice.”   
  
Gordon's wings were fluffing again, and he hated it.   
  
“I would stab your creator. They are horrible.”   
  
“I just want to fly again,” Henry whimpered. 

“But I know I never will.”   
  
All Gordon could do was hold him tightly. He silently remembered the moonlit conversation with North, all those years ago. He was going to do his best.   
  
\---   
  
The months passed in the blink of an eye, and Percy soon learned to nimbly soar amongst the clouds. Henry was often left on the ground, unable to join them in the sky.   
  
Gordon asked one night why Henry wore that jacket regardless of temperature.   
  
Henry shrugged his jacket off, and Gordon's heart broke for him.   
  
Two matching scars, jagged and harsh, cut into his back. The edges still seemed pink and raw.   
  
Gordon never brought Henry's jacket up again.   
  
\---   
  
Henry had known something was wrong from the moment the package arrived. The odd ticking noise from inside was doing bad things to his gut. But when Gordon walked past, wing feathers crumpled from a bad landing, he instinctively placed himself between it and Gordon. It was a very selfless decision.   
  
Henry took the brunt of the magical explosion, and they'd had to rush him to hospital.   
  
Gordon paced around outside the room, waiting for Dr. Stanier.   
  
“He'll be fine now. We managed to stabilise him by drawing out the extra magic.”   
  
Stanier looked up over his glasses at Gordon. He seemed to be scrutinising the Gresley carefully.   
  
“We also had to make some physical… modifications.”   
  
He patted Gordon's arm.   
  
“Do teach him how to preen, yes? I don't want him back in here with raggedy wings and crushed feathers.”   
  
Gordon nodded, rushed inside, and stopped short.   
  
There was the boy from his childhood nightmares. The one he'd been told to help, the one robbed of an integral part of himself, whole and restored. His eyes welled with happy tears as Henry woke.   
  
“Oh… My head. What happened?”   
  
Gordon couldn't keep the smile off his face.   
  
“Flap, Henry.”   
  
Henry shot Gordon a look.   
  
“…Did you hit your head during the explosion?”   
  
Gordon huffed in mock annoyance.   
  
“Seriously. Flap.”   
  
Henry pushed himself up in preparation to question Gordon. To his mild annoyance, his body seemed slightly heavier. He craned his neck, and his eyes went wide.   
  
Behind him, created from the excess magic forced into his body by the explosion, were a pair of emerald green wings. When he turned back to Gordon, he still had no words.   
  
Wrapping Henry in a hug, Gordon whispered in his ear.   
  
“Someday, I'll teach you how to fly.”   
  
\---   
  
By the time Henry had healed, Gordon had taught him much of the knowledge required to maintain his wings. Preening, how to not knock everything in a room over, how to waterproof them (big thanks to Duck, who taught them both at the same time).   
  
Then it was time. Henry was nervous as all hell, but Gordon had planned it well.   
  
It was well known that Gresleys were good fliers, and Gordon had called in what remained of his family to help Henry.   
  
They taught Henry the wing movements, helped him drill them, and took him flying themselves so he could experience it.   
  
The joy on Henry's face was something Gordon would never forget.   
  
“Gordon! I'm doing it!  _ I'm doing it! _ ”   
  
“Yes you are, Henry! You're flying!”   
  
As Henry soared through the sky on his own for the first time in years, Gordon closed his eyes and thought of North.   
  
“He did it, North. He  _ flew _ .”   
  
He grinned, opened his eyes and sped after Henry.


End file.
